DROWN
by Erullisse
Summary: The fairies thought they'd won when they sent a silver sarcophagus holding Eric Northman to the bottom of the Atlantic, but not even magic could stop the hurricane that releases a vampire hell bent on revenge - and reclaiming the woman he loves.


**Author's Note**** = 2010 was one of the hardest years of my life, hence my leaving the fanfiction world for an extended hiatus. I have suffered a number of personal tragedies and am slowly rebuilding my life and returning to writing, so your patience and support would be greatly appreciated. ~E~**

**Disclaimer**** = I do not own any part or character from the Southern Vampire Mysteries, or any other book or movie referenced here. This story was written purely for pixie giggles. **

**Notes**** = This story is A/U, and set sometime in the future beyond Book #8. Rated M = lots of language, lemons, limes and violence. Be warned, this story contains graphic violence, torture, character death, forced mental and physical situations. It also contains scenes during which you might very well laugh your ass off and fall out of that comfy computer chair. Be forewarned, and enjoy. **

**Beta by Juliannanight.**

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**DROWN**

**Written for my friends – you know who you are.**

**Chapter 1 - Mine**

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"_I love you, Eric."_

"_I love you, and in three days we will be together forever . . . so close your eyes, lover, and sleep now . . . sleep my beautiful Sookie . . . __S o o k i e . . . S o o k i e!"_

"Another," Niall commanded.

Chains rattled ominously down a blackened corridor, tinkling like death bells rejoicing in the pain they delivered. A cell door rasped, rusty hinges protesting as it was flung open and a battered body jerked from inside. A vicious kick to the ribs prostrated the helpless creature; a hiss of metal, a solid thump, then a mass of chocolate hair lay tangled over lifeless hazel eyes. Rhys nodded to the guards, signaling them to remove the body as he kicked the head across the hall. It gave a lopsided roll through the cell front, interrupting the rodents and their rabid gnawing before ending at Eric's feet; red lipstick smeared across one cheek, a rhinestone clip still hanging in the bangs.

Blood dripped from Eric's eyes as he blinked thickly, lids at half-mast as he struggled to stay conscious, movements restricted by the heavy silver collar clamped around his neck. He still managed the strength to spit in her face. "A whore?" he rasped, voice as raw as the skin of his wrists and ankles as he hung suspended in the bowels of an ancient fey oubliette. "This is what you intend to force me with? Dead tourists . . . and a fangbanger whore?" He spit blood again. "_S__vartálfar! _You black-hearted bastard, I will never tell you where she is."

Air wet with vomit and urine stained Niall Brigant from the inside out, yet he paid his putrid surroundings no mind, perfectly polished loafers clicking from one blood-crusted stone to the next as he approached the cell. One flick of a silken finger parted bars as thick as his wrist, and he stepped inside. "Truly, the mind of a vampire does dull quickly when deprived of sleep. You believe I would waste time and effort on an inconsequential human tourist? Let us refresh my terms." He plucked a shiny canine from the stinking mat of filth festering on the floor, holding the two-inch fang up so Eric could see. "One head for every time you say my great-grandchild's name without her location attached. Twenty-three times you have uttered it, and I have delivered in turn. The first four heads belonged to Fangtasia wait staff. The following seven were unfortunate vampires harvested from that disgusting thing you label a bar – and those last twelve . . . I fear those were vampires as well, yet ones of much more importance."

Eric fought to understand the words, vision swimming as his head listed to the side, thumping back against the moldy stone. A syringe of sedative remained buried in his neck. The drugging fairy dust still stuck to his face mixing with the salty splatter of sea water dripping down his matted hair. Black stalagmites steeped in slime and soot hung like rotten teeth around the entrance to his cell, retching up screams from twisting corridors to echo off every clump of lichen and dripping torch, yet not one whimper had crossed his lips – even when that demonic fey executioner cum torturer called Rhys stabbed an emerald-inlaid dagger in his side and twisted. The regenerative qualities of a vampire seemed to excite the sick, silver-haired bastard, making torture that much more fun. He could be cut deeper, bleed more, fight harder, and then be forced to do it all over again.

Even now, Rhys stepped forward; tall, muscular body armored in leather and chain mail offset by swaths of royal silk, black eyes as cold as the steel of the broadsword hanging on his side. He scooped a bucket of frigid ocean water from the small fall pouring down the far wall, dumped it over Eric's head and shook him. "Awake, creature! You sleep only after you speak." Adrift in the sweet darkness between consciousness and oblivion, Eric made no response. Rhys ripped a runeblade across his chest, splitting pale ridges of muscle even as he slammed a knee into his groin. "Wake, animal!"

Instinct and hatred brought back to life the searing flare of pain, Eric showed him just what an animal he could be, snapping fangs at the Fey Commander that damn near took off an ear as he roared in rage. Hours of staring had already shown no escape would be found, still his wild eyes searched the rank prison – settling their fury on Niall. "Why?" he growled through cracking lips. "I love Sookie, loved her enough to marry her. And she asked to be changed, begged me . . . even smiled when the time came."

In the next heartbeat, Niall stood so close the warm flower of his breath wafted over Eric's newest wounds. "I crossed an obvious line of ignorance by allowing you to have Sookie," he seethed, yanking the wedding band off Eric's crushed finger, "but blood of my blood, so long as you made my great-granddaughter happy, I bore you no ill will – indulged you both – the wedding, the reception, the house. I offered you any and everything I possess, all save one condition. Never, _never_ would I see Sookie turned!" He stepped back, his restraint at not crushing Eric to death simply to hear the snapping sounds proof of the enormous power – and waning patience - he held. "Now I tire of asking - where does my great-grandchild lay in wait?"

Eric met Niall's condemning stare with no fear or regret, pulling his head up with a primal proudness that demanded respect. "To what end? Do you think knowing will change anything? That by having your pet break my bones, it will be undone?" He gave a humorless chuckle. "Sookie is dead; gone to ground, and on the third day she will rise as my child. She is _mine_. The deed is done."

A feral rumble crept up Niall's throat, a soft sound barely audible to the ears, yet powerful enough to shift slabs of rough-hewn granite as the fierce fire of his fëa broke through and his hair melted into a halo of molten gold and every crevice of the rancid cell shone bright as the noon sun. "I can stop the change - and you best pray I do, because if Sookie Stackhouse rises as a vampire, she will be the only vampire alive in the whole of your territory when she does." He scooped a head from the floor, shoving the garish, half-dissolved display of death in Eric's face. "The _former_ Vampire King of Virginia. Is his travel party's rancid remains on which my feet squelch, so do not doubt my sincerity when I say for the last time I ever intend that you will deliver my great-grandchild's location, or I shall exterminate one entire quadrant of your race."

With a guttural cry of defiance, Eric threw himself against the chains, caring nothing for the sick singe of his own burning flesh. "You insane bastard! You send your handful of men to Shreveport and see who dies! By now, every vampire knows what you have done and they will see every fairy heart torn out and eaten before this ends – starting with yours!"

"Mine?" Niall gave a wicked laugh. "I fear the tragic death of the Virginia delegation in your territory has placed a price on your head – not mine – and if you believe I command no more than a handful of men, you need rethink that, too. The decline of the fey is nothing more than an intentionally spread illusion. In truth, we stand in allegiance with our elven cousins and our numbers are stronger than you can conceive, as is our strength." A haunting refrain of long-dead language spilled from his lips in demonstration, shattering the suspended skull to dust as the fairy king turned on Eric with a gaze so venomous the lagoon green of his eyes bled red. The King of the Fey could be one scary son of a bitch when he wanted to be. He took a step closer. He wanted to be. "This ends now. Your situation is hopeless, escape impossible, and with one more word across my lips, an army of fey descends on Shreveport like the hounds of hell . . . so choose - Sookie or your subjects."

"Fuck you," Eric spat. "You don't have the balls."

A muscle ticked ominously in Niall's jaw, then he slowly inclined his head in acquiescence. "As you wish, Northman, but never forget the weight of this day lays on your soul." With a snap of his fingers, Niall opened a shimmering portal, viewing window through which Eric could watch the impending carnage his refusal to break had wrought – then he turned to Rhys. "Decapitate all remaining captives. And since I would hate to be an ungracious host, do let us provide Northman with some worthy entertainment while the troops make ready to depart. Bolt the doors and burn Fangtasia to the ground."

"Niall . . . _N i a l l!"_

Eric's teeth ground in frustration, muscles straining against the chains as the fairy flatly ignored him and walked away . . . leaving a stream of horrifying images to take his place. Fey warriors were spreading over Shreveport like a living disease, daggers strapped to each thigh, evil cross-bows armed with silver tipped arrows promising death even as it was delivered. Images of the slaughter under way down the corridor joined echoing screams, crawling across the walls like a starved beast desperate to feed – but it was the burn of reddish-orange flame that ended him, every flicker of fire so real Eric could smell the smoke as Niall Brigant declared war on any and everything he had ever touched. The windows of his corvette caved to the thrust of torches. The door of his and Sookie's new home shattered to splinters as fire rolled inside; the eaves of Fangtasia oozing smoke as the roof began to burn.

Every flicker scorched his soul until his bones bled its tears as Eric frantically weighed his options. He imagined everyone inside being burned alive; considered the wretched prison where he was no doubt supposed to die himself. He prayed to long forgotten gods that this was some twisted dream, some side effect of the drugs - but the bite of silver and heaviness in his heart proved it was real . . . every searing image proved it, showing him how many more would be sacrificed in his name unless this came to an end.

Unless he made it end.

"Stop!" he conceded, the ache in his chest threatening to crack him in half. "Stop!"

Struggling to stay sane, he watched Niall glide from the shadows. Eric Northman would rather spend eternity roasting in the seventh ring of hell than submit to that fairy's pompous puckered ass, but he didn't survive a thousand years by being stupid. You fight the battles you can win, and kiss ass to get your own out of the ones you can't . . . just so you stay alive to come back and kill the cowardly bastards another day. "If I tell you where she is, you swear on your life this stops. The fire at Fangtasia gets put out and not one more vampire dies – including me. Sookie and I are bonded, so murder me and martyr your own flesh and blood. She won't survive if I die."

Niall stared at him, expression as flat as the black sand beach outside the tiny stone-ledged window preening starlight down on his head. "This is not a negotiation, Northman, and it has never been my intention to end your life – only to save that of my line."

"Swear it," Eric demanded hoarsely.

Tension stretched, the fairy giving away nothing as he mused, then finally nodded. "On my crown, I meet your terms. Now, the location."

Eric cast another long look at the portal, watching the flames continue to spread. "Southwest corner of Bill Compton's barn under heavy guard by weres. They are under orders to kill on sight."

An abrupt shudder and Niall was gone, but Eric did not notice. All strength left him along with the reluctant confession, darkness swallowing him as yet another blood drop fell from a wound he no longer possessed the means to heal. He slumped in his restraints, unaware of the passage of time . . . minutes—hours—days? The slam of a fist to his face brought him back, a fist that smelled of rich, warm soil and summer rain on gardenias.

_Sookie. _

"Sookie!"

The name died on his lips. The dream of an eternity with the woman he loved fractured beneath the tortured reality of concrete lacing his veins, his body going numb even as his mind snapped to perfect clarity.

"Take a good long look," Niall said, cornsilk hair framing a face painted in rage as he jerked his head toward the filthy figure nestled on a nearby bed.

_Sookie. _

"Yes, Sookie. Alive and well, with no fangs and no memory of you. She will be going far, far away from Shreveport to live the rest of her life in mundane happiness, while you, Northman - you will be rotting on the bottom of the ocean until the end of time." Niall straightened and stepped back, staring down at him with all the cold arrogance of his royalty and race. "I promised I would not take your life, and indeed I shall honor my oath – but there are some fates far worse than death. And I welcome you to yours."

The delicate linen strip that had bound this hand to Sookie's during the wedding floated down to drape Eric's chest, the pastel embroidery she had toiled over so many months now streaked with dirt from the enraged fairy's hand that had just dug her up. It was followed by the dumping of a half-dozen rats, rats contained by . . . the walls of a coffin? Eric frantically searched his surroundings, eyes and ears the only thing that would respond, recording everything in slow motion. Dying screams had been replaced by the melodious chime of healing incantations, shadows by the glint of royal fey armor and blinding light, slimy stone by elaborate carvings and murals. He lay on peacock-blue cushioning; and he was entirely surrounded by the gleam of etched, elven silver.

"Worry not, vampire," Rhys said with false sincerity. "You shall have eons to enjoy your new home, and the rodents should not have chewed you too much by the time the incantation fades. Consider it a last meal for you both."

Eric wrenched his gaze to Niall as guards began working numerous heavy latches and levers, preparing to lower the thousand-pound lid. The fairy watched, head held high, no trace of remorse or pity. Eric turned his gaze to Sookie, refusing to believe this was real even as he struggled to memorize every hair, every curve and freckle - to imprint her with his love and somehow project the promise into her mind that this absolutely was not the end for them . . . then just as a rat sank its tiny teeth into his leg, everything went black.

The sound of steel being bolted shut is unmistakable, whether it be a padlock, the top of a coffin, or the bars of a prison - but the orchestral clang that rang in Eric's ears was unfathomably worse. Sacred silver smelted with spells then reinforced with titanium tempered in the lava rivers that flowed beneath Lovíriel herself resonated a song of eternal torment, and it was soon followed by another - the unmistakable gurgle of sea water as it swallowed a sacred sarcophagus and Eric Northman sank to the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico . . . while Sookie Stackhouse sat up and sucked air, and Niall Brigant smiled.


End file.
